


The Cross

by Bearfeat



Series: Nothing is Sacred [3]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Priest (Sweden Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Smut, Toxic Relationships, beaking, cathardic violence, hatefucking, mention of ex-ghouls, probably, sub/Dom roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearfeat/pseuds/Bearfeat
Summary: Papa Emeritus and The Puppet Master continue seeing each other after what happened in the pit and the church, and it's mostly quick, dirty, and exactly what they both need. Yet, some things have changed, and their power struggle might jeopardize any sort of peace that was still possible between them and their ministries.





	1. The Master

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is Part 3 of these series I shouldn't still have to say this, but be warned: this series is dark, bleak, not lovely, not fluffy, not warm, not sweet, unsatisfying for most, and just not for everyone.

Papa Emeritus the Third once again wondered how a space can be so empty that he found himself trying to fill as little of it as possible. The long table was still there, and so were the high windows that showed a gray and rainy side of Stockholm he hardly visited. But he was here again, it was somehow always gray and rainy, and he pressed his palms into the table and his jaw shut.  
Only small sounds of pleasure left him, because the large hall demanded that from him. And the Master had demanded him to take every trick he lay on him without complaining, and also to not come.  
Papa’s hands were pressed into the wooden table and his teeth grinded together. The Puppet Master’s length filled him and ravaged him with a devastating tempo. It hit all the places inside him that needed ravaging and filling, and Papa threw his head back, moaning softly, as a gloved hand closed over his throat.

‘You’re being so good, Papa.’ The Master grunted with Mercury’s voice. ‘You always take me so well.’  
A shiver ran through the evil pope, and he felt cold inside. He thought of the ghouls, and of how they all had found housing in this cold, gray place. A skilled hand now started stroking his erection. He forgave them. He understood them. He hated them. He repeated those thoughts until the hand around his throat closed and he started running out of breath. Unable to come, he leaned further over the table. He was being used, fucked as a price, and completely at the mercy of his nemesis.  
‘Please!’ He spat with his last breath.   
‘No.’ The Puppet Master thrusted into him, making his hips slam painfully into the wood. He increased his stroke, making Papa even harder than he thought possible, closer to coming than he could handle.  
‘Ma-ster…’ Papa’s toes curled, his nails dug into the table. He opened his eyes wide all of a sudden, gasping for oxygen that wouldn’t come. His legs tensed up completely and all color and sound disappeared when he reached his climax. It lasted longer than usual, and he could feel how he spurted his seed over himself and over the hand that did not stop jerking him off. His orgasm was pushed forward by the thrusting of the Master’s cock inside him.

Then, he was granted his breath. Papa gasped and coughed as he struggled to fill his lungs. Goosebumps over his body, he slumped over, feeling himself go limp.  
‘Fuck!’ the Puppet Master cursed. Papa could feel his hips stagger. Then, a familiar grunt behind him and the warmth of the Master’s heat spilling inside. The Puppet Master leaned his sweaty forehead to the cold skin of Papa’s shoulder. 

When a certain calmness wrapped around the pope like a cloak, he pushed himself up to stand up straight. He felt the surprise of the Master’s warm arms around him.  
He hadn’t expected the gesture, and he looked back. Mercury’s eyes were dark, but there was that soft, red glow. Papa parted his lips when Mercury’s purple mouth was suddenly there.  
The warmth started at his lips, and he drank it in when the Master pressed his tongue inside to taste him. It eased the pain in his lungs, and made the skin under the Master’s hands glow. Alarmed, Papa broke the kiss. He felt hot with adrenaline now too.  
There was no purple smoke. Not dark, electric magic that manipulated him to feel this way.

‘You always hate yourself so much after you’ve been with me, Papa.’ The Puppet Master said softly.   
‘No… No, I… I don’t.’ Papa wasn’t sure why he was indulging him.  
‘Shh…’ The Master pulled out of him, leaving him wet and burning. ‘Don’t do that. Let me be the one to torture you. The only one.’ He placed a finger under Papa’s chin to make him look up. Papa felt crushed under the eye contact, as if the other was able to look into his soul. Yet, he was unable to look away. A pain pestered in his throat, as if the Master’s hand was still there, cutting off his voice.   
‘Let me own you.’ Puppet Master whispered.  
‘Spirit!’ Papa said. His voice was stern, and it echoed through the hall. For the first time, Papa felt big again. He felt present. Puppet Master’s face hardened when Papa used his safety word, but he let go of him immediately. 

‘The point of fucking you, is we do it because we hate each other.’ Papa scoffed, clawing his pants off the floor. ‘Hating you is what makes our fucking so good.’ He tied his shoes, and draped the rest of his clothes over his arm.   
‘You’ll be back.’ The Puppet Master laughed. ‘And not just because you hate me.’ 

The sound echoed, and followed Papa, even when he closed the door to the hall. A Doctor stood there to hand him his coat. Papa ignored the acolyte as he finished dressing himself. Puppet Master’s laughter still echoed in his ears.   
‘Salt.’ Papa finally acknowledged the plague doctor in the corner. When he heard his own voice he realized his mood had completely turned to shit. The acolyte nodded to him when Papa took his coat, then he gave a slight bow and opened the front door. The dark pope left without thanking him.

Raul was reading and he jumped when Papa opened the door to the backseat of the black Mercedes. Papa wasn’t sure how long he had been this time. He felt a pang of shame for making Raul wait for hours in the car, a block away from Priest’s ministries, but the feeling faded. Raul was doing his job. Papa’s whereabouts were none of his concern. And what was more: he had been informed firmly that these trips they made together were not to be discussed with anyone.  
‘Alright, Papa Emeritus?’ Raul said as always. A regular, simple greeting, to which the pope did not seem to find a reply. Papa looked at him through the rearview mirror, and looked away when he locked eyes with the driver. He gave a short nod.  
‘Where to?’  
In the blackened window, Papa looked at his own reflection. He had bags under his restless eyes. He cleared his throat, and then he saw it: over his neck lay thin, but very visible red lines. It was as if Puppet Master’s hand was burned into his skin. His eyes widened, his blood rushing to his ears, and he quickly pulled the collar of his coat up to disguise the markings. With a mixture of anger and shame, he realized Raul had now been looking at him through the rearview, to await his response.  
‘Home.’ Papa said, voice weak.


	2. The Mass

Lincopia barely looked like a castle anymore. It was an abandoned stack of bricks, the ruins of Meliora. Papa Emeritus never expected the glory days to end like this: gray and cold, as if it had been cut open and slowly bled out. Home was empty. Everyone who had lived or passed through this place had slipped through his fingers. Papa once thought to have built something so rich and unholy that everyone needed a part in it, but the reality was that he had just been a stop before the next one.

 _The Roman Empire fell not with a bang, but with a whimper_. Papa didn’t know where he had read that, but the sentence ran through his head every time he approached his home. His shoes in the gravel made a sound that stung in his spine. It was too loud for this forsaken place. When he walked up the steps he heard Raul leave with the car. He didn’t look back. Quietly, he placed his fingertips on the family crest engraved in the door. He paused, entering a mindset that would help him adjust to the environment inside.

 

Because this cold, abandoned stack of bricks was still inhabited. This hell forsaken place was still crawling with people. The empire Papa had built was gone, his chosen family had deserted. What had remained was that that had always been here in Lincopia. For generations, his blood had marked and claimed this location. Family, he thought, he would never have chosen had he had the chance.

His home now felt like it had before he was given the reigns to the congregation. His brother had built the era of Infestissumam, like he had Meliora, and had surrounded himself with acolytes. Some loyal, some not so much, but when it all ended he had established a legacy overshadowing all blood of Lincopia. Papa felt The Master’s seed inside him when he crossed the threshold.

‘You’re home.’ A voice coming from down the hall. It was a dry statement, not made in joy or surprise. The figure didn’t even look up at Papa while making his way to the reading room.

‘Father.’ Papa answered, equally dry. Reflexively, he pulled his collar tighter around his neck.

‘Join me for dinner tonight.’ Papa Nihil had his hand on the door, and he looked to his side, in the direction of his son, but not making eye contact.

‘The Sister will be there.’

Ah, the sister. The old one, the snake, the one with her fangs so deep in his father’s spine that Papa wasn’t sure who’s words he was hearing when they were together. It always seemed that his father only spoke to please her. The one who wasn’t of the blood. Papa always found it cruel that he had to call her ‘sister’ anyway, as if she was family after all.

‘I’m busy tonight-’ he started, but his father cut him off.

‘T was not a question.’ The old man grumbled. Then he looked up. ‘Where have you been?’ Papa always found his milky white eyes lit up in darker places, and he knew they could see more than his human eyes could. He raised his hand to cover his collar again, but changed his mind in the last second. He did not know what his father could see. He did not know what it would be that would trigger a reaction now. Papa did not respond, and soon enough, his father had lost interest. He entered the reading room, disappearing out of sight.

 _‘Twas not a question’_ Papa thought, hand the thought was vile and toxic and it spun through his mind.

 

Knowing nothing could make him feel clean, he made his way to his chambers, and undressed for his bath. The red marks on his neck looked lighter, thank the Devil, but his skin was sensitive when he touched it there.

‘Motherfucker.’ Papa whispered. He felt a tightening in his throat when an unfamiliar emotion came over him. He took a step back to get a better look at himself in the mirror. His skin was so pale in the cold light of the rainy afternoon, and all the bruises and blemishes shone through. Over his chest lay eight long lines, from his collarbone down to his navel. The scratches had healed and were still fading, but sometimes, when he was cold, the red lines were visible. Papa put his heel up and turned his leg inward, seeing bite marks on his thighs. Also red, also fading. He took a deep breath and turned his back to the mirror. His heart dropped and beat heavily when he looked over his shoulder, as if he didn’t expect to see what he saw. As if he didn’t already know. As if he didn’t regard it this morning, and every morning before getting dressed. His buttocks were firmly bruised. The lines were a deep purple, red along the edges. It turned yellow where it had started to heal. Over his back the lines were thinner, and scabs had formed where the flogger had broken his skin. Again, Papa touched his neck. What made a person need pain like this? What made him so that he only felt whole after being torn apart? What made him yearn so deeply that his skin was needed to be clawed through to scratch that itch?

He wasn’t in pain now, and he never really was. He couldn’t call it pain when that was what he needed. It was something different then. And now… now it was what he had to hide. It was what made him a stranger in his own house.

 

The bath was hot, and made his skin red and full when he stepped in. The steam from the tub made him short of breath, until he was used to the temperature. Slowly, it became comfortable and comforting. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his chest. The red glowed behind his eyes, too.

The Puppet Master had been wrong. He didn’t hate himself. Shame could be a useful thing. Shame for returning to that… _person_ time after time, a man whom he did resent fully. He imagined how Mercury’s cock felt inside him, and the Master’s electricity too. Papa had no idea what it was, but he felt charged, spiked. He knew the Master used it to subject those he pined after. It was addictive. He could imagine the purple in the steam coming from his bath now. He swallowed hard. Carefully, he lifted his leg, placing the heel on the edge of the bath tub. His asshole puckered when he ran a finger over it. Then he gripped his balls tightly.

They were in the chapel of Lincopia this time, not the church he was given after his inauguration. The family chapel. The Puppet Master had stripped him down, bended him over the altar, and now ran his wet, velvety tongue between Papa’s cheeks. Papa’s palms were flat against the marble, and he felt soft over his entire body. The hands on him were warm and gentle. He moaned in pleasure, pure pleasure. Puppet Master squeezed his ass sometimes, but his nails didn’t dive into his skin. No teeth were being used. Nothing broke him. There was no need for that yet.

Papa let out a long sigh. There was always lightness in the dark. But he had learned to not trust too much with this inhumane being. A little on edge, he opened his eyes to see further into the chapel. He found his father sitting there on a bench. Tight-lipped, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes shining in the dark. Next to him Sister Imperator, her eyes spitting fire, and if this wasn’t his own fantasy he knew she’d be cursing the living daylight out of him.

 

‘Look at them.’ The Puppet Master’s voice was a high-pitched whisper, and only for him to hear. He stared at his father and his woman, and felt the Master rise and slowly enter him. The looks on their faces remained unchanged when Papa’s moan echoed through the open space. He imagined the stretch, and felt the edge of the bathtub press into his leg as he pushed two fingers to his hole. He grunted through his teeth when he started stroking himself. This was the torture, he thought, imagining Nihil and the Sister. The Master’s touch was soft and his stroke devastating. Papa felt he wouldn’t last long with the family chapel crumbling around him.

He imagined how he could let it all go, there on the altar, where all he was burdened with was the task to come, and he imagined how his Master would lock eyes with Nihil and the Sister, holding their gaze as he defiled their blood and head of church. It felt more freeing than anything he’d ever felt. He cramped up and let out a peaceful sigh as he reached his high. His leg slid back into the tub as all the tension slowly left his body. He was heavy now. The emptiness inside him made him feel drowsy, and he spent abstract measures of time in half-sleep, only waking when the water cooled too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I re-read this I noticed my depression must've had a field day because this chapter is so much more grim than I truly want this all to be. I'll lighten up a little in the next chapter. I definitely do not aim to bum you all out.


	3. The Cross

The ambiance in the dining room was colder than the bath water Papa had found himself in. he couldn’t remember if he was hungry, and he poked at his grilled potatoes with a fork. His brothers were silent, too.

‘We have found a new man to lead the congregation.’ The sister’s words sounded strange and flat in the wide space. It killed the evening before it had even started. Next to him, Papa Emeritus the Second put his cutlery down.

‘How?’ he said simply.

‘We have found-’ the sister repeated, but Two cut her off.

‘Who is next in the bloodline? None of our bastards are of age. The male ones, at least.’

‘A female predecessor?’ Papa Emeritus the First, who had been following the conversation with little interest, sounded hopeful. Papa looked up from his plate to watch the glee in his brother’s eyes.

‘Of course not!’ Papa Nihil spat a piece of his steak over the table. His hands shook when he cut off another piece. ‘The next leader will be a man!’

He chewed the meat with parted lips.

Sister Imperator gave him nasty side-eye before she spoke again.

‘A cardinal.’ She said. ‘A most suitable employee.’

 

When no one spoke for a while, Papa realized it was because everyone was looking at him.

‘You haven’t touched your food.’ The woman said coldly.

‘A cardinal?’ Papa hissed. He looked to his father, who had mashed potato in the corners of his mouth.

‘How could _you_ allow new blood to take over?’

‘This is on you!’ his brother, Two, stood up from the table.

‘Sit down!’ Nihil commanded, but Two threw his napkin on his plate.

‘You would break our legacy over _him_?’ his brother cursed. ‘You would murder our dynasty?’

Papa couldn’t face him.

‘New blood.’ There was a grin in Sister’s voice. His father seemed less amused when he said: ‘The party is over.’

 

 

Raul looked at him through the rearview mirror. Papa felt his eyes on him. It was as if he could hear his thoughts.

The pope stared out of the window. It was somehow always raining. The building was tall and grim.

‘Papa?’

The pope looked up. They had arrived minutes ago, but he was still sitting there, hands in his lap. Looking out the window. The motor ran, making a comforting sound.

‘You want me to take you home now?’ Raul’s brown eyes were kind. He kept a professional way about him, but Papa felt his concern. The pope sighed, and opened his door.

‘I’ll be here.’ His driver said. Papa watched him as he took a book out of the glove compartment.

‘Actually, you can-’

‘I’ll be here.’ Raul said. Face serene, eyes on the pages. Papa suppressed a wave of shame and gratefulness when he closed the door and made his way up the steps.

 

 

‘Good to see you have decided to come inside.’ Puppet Master stood at one of the tall windows. With a circular motion of his wrist he let the whiskey dance round and round in the glass.

‘This human likes it.’ He answered Papa’s unasked question. ‘Want some?’

Papa nodded, and at the snap of the Master’s fingers a Doctor appeared to pour him a glass too.

‘You want to tell me why you are back so soon?’

‘You don’t touch me tonight.’ Papa said harshly. Puppet Master cocked his head in feigned surprise. ‘Not unless I ask.’

‘I never touch you without permission.’ The Puppet Master approached him, his red eye glistening in the neon-lit room.

Papa snarled at him, and tore open his collar, exposing the red bruises. The Master took a step back, but then his purple mouth curled up into an ominous grin.

‘You asked.’ He whispered coldly. He placed his glass on the table, next to Papa’s, and then his hands. He leaned over the pope, who held his gaze with precision.

‘What is your safe word, Papa Emeritus?’

Papa moved his head, suppressing a shiver, but did not break eye contact.

‘It’s ‘spirit’.’

‘Don’t I always ask you if you remember this word before each session?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you feel safe to use it when the need is there?’

Papa clenched his jaw. The Master was tediously calm.

‘I do.’

‘Have you used your safe word with me, Papa?’

‘Once.’ He cleared his throat. ‘This morning.’

The Master turned his head. His silver spikes seemed to glow.

‘What did I do?’ He said. His voice got softer with each question. He skillfully narrowed the space around them.

Papa swallowed. He was hurting. He wished he knew where.

‘You stopped.’ He whispered.

 

A sharp sound when The Master stood up straight and walked away from him, taking his position at the window again.

‘If you don’t tell me why you are really here, half-human, you might find yourself permanently uninvited.’’

‘I… I…’ Papa formed sounds before he could even find the words. ‘I…’ he said again.

Over at the window, the Master’s silver spikes glimmered and the rain beat down without zest.

‘I need…’ his voice was shaking. If Mercury was an animal, The Master was pricking up his ears.

‘You need?’ he said.

Papa nodded his head.

‘You asked.’ His Master said.

 

-

 

Whiskey. He hadn’t drunk from it. Yet, it tingled on his lips.

‘I won’t bruise you.’ The Master loomed over him, tugging a finger under the rope that bound his wrist to the cross.

‘Even though I enjoy seeing you like this.’ He checked his other wrist. Then his ankles.

‘Hell, there isn’t any skin left for me to bruise.’ He grinned, making Papa wonder what he could possibly know of hell.

The Puppet Master picked up his glass from somewhere that was out of Papa’s line of sight, and took a swig. Before the kiss, Papa could taste the alcohol on his breath. It was a short kiss, just the contact of their lips and a fleeting touching of tongues, and then it was gone.

‘More?’ Master’s voice was warm and close to him. Papa had never been in this part of The Pit, and it seemed small. It seemed to contain only them.

‘Please, Master.’

The Puppet Master hummed with approval as he took another sip of the drink. The kiss stung with alcohol, Master’s tongue was cold. Papa curled his fingers, unable to touch, as he received the kiss. There was something about the way the other man tasted, something Papa didn’t want to think about too much. He was a little out of breath when The Puppet Master broke away. His fingertips were tingling. His nipples hardened, even though the temperature in the room was perfectly pleasant.

‘Is that a smile, Emeritus?’

Papa opened his eyes. He seemed to have drifted off a little. Or lost himself, at least. His eyesight sharpened. No purple smoke.

‘Open.’ The Master said.

Papa parted his lips. The whiskey ran into his mouth before he was ready. He coughed, trying his best to keep it all in.

‘Swallow.’ The Master demanded. Papa obeyed, then started coughing again. The Master let him, and waited patiently for his lungs to clear. Papa caught his red eye when he leaned over him to wipe some spit away from his lips. This time, Papa anticipated the new splash of whiskey.

‘Swallow.’ The Master said again, covering Papa’s mouth with his hand. Papa did and imagined how the alcohol entered his bloodstream. His vision blurred again, but he got hit with adrenaline when the other blocked his nostrils with thumb and index finger. Papa’s eyes widened, his heart suddenly beating fast. He couldn’t breathe.

 

‘Shh…’ he heard the Puppet Master say. There was only him. The Pit was pitch black, but the silver was there, and so was the red eye. So was the purple mouth.

When he took his hand away, Papa gasped for breath, mouth open wide. He felt cold fill his lungs and then warmth spread through his body. It crept up his chest, and over his scalp to his cheeks. His heart was pounding, and his breathing quick when the glass of booze returned. He managed to close off his throat just in time.

Mercilessly, Puppet Master cut off his breath again. Papa pressed his eyes shut to concentrate on surviving, and somewhere in the distance he heard how his Master commanded him to swallow. Right that moment, an ice cold pain hit him in the groin.

 

He cried out under the Master’s hand as the other pressed the ice cube to his balls.

‘Swallow.’ The Master said, voice calm.

Papa’s lips vibrated against his palm as the cry died out. His entire body was tense, and he shook his legs, but the ice cube wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Come, now.’ Puppet Master sounded disappointed. ‘You’ve had worse.’

‘Hmpf!’ Papa rumbled. He balled his fists, trying to distract himself from the feeling down there, and swallowed. His ears popped, and Puppet Master must have noticed that discomfort, because he took his hand form Papa’s mouth.

‘Master!’ the pope hissed, his vision blurring. It was hard to catch his breath, drifting somewhere between consciousness and a comfortable extasy. It was a sub-space he embraced. As his Master’s warm hand wrapped around his half-erection, he found a way to let go. Papa relaxed, tied to that wooden cross, accepting his fate fully. A vision of his father and the sister flashed before his eyes, but then the cold between his legs traveled further south.

‘Thank you, Master.’ Papa whispered when the ice cube circled his anus.

‘Good, Papa.’

 

The hand moved firmly over his cock, skillfully. Papa sighed with bliss. He grew hard under Puppet Master’s touch. Harder. He moaned when the other man spat on him, to make the strokes smoother.

‘Thank… you…’ he murmured. The sound didn’t reach his Master. It was quiet in The Pit as some melted water trickled down and the Master entered him with two fingers.

‘Yes?’ he sang. He ran a rough fingertip over his prostate. It made a flame come to life inside the pope, and Papa’s insides contracted, his cock started to drip. The Master’s chuckle was sung as well, and he circled the head of Papa’s cock, making his hand even slicker.

‘Deliver.’ Puppet Master said, and he pumped harder, knowing he was taking Papa to his climax. His fingers probed and the ice pressed against Papa’s taint, and the pope arched his back, trying to make sense of all the different sensations. He felt opened up, exposed in every sense of the word, and nothing was in the way of his orgasm when he reached deeper inside, capitulating. The moment he let it all go, and grunted unintelligible words into the ether, the Puppet Master pushed the ice cube inside.

As it pressed against his prostate, Papa felt the coldness of it behind his eyes, and in his lungs, and in the tips of his toes. His legs spasmed on the cross, his abdomen tensed beyond comfort and he shouted as The Puppet Master stroked him through it.

 

Blood rushed in Papa’s ears. It took a while before he noticed that the only thing he could hear was his own breathing.

‘Fuck.’ The other man whispered. Papa gazed at him. He noticed a change in demeanor right away. The other slouched, and looked at his soiled hand.

‘Mercury?’ Papa said. When their gaze met it confirmed his first thought. No red glowed in there.

‘The Puppet Master left.’ The acolyte said. He seemed out of his depth, apologetic even. ‘Let me clean you up.’

Papa felt a familiar tightening in his throat. It was a feeling of impotence, of being wronged. A feeling that had been very close to the surface for a while now. But he couldn’t fight anymore.

 

When Mercury untied him, he held out his hands, so that Papa could hold on to him as he stepped off the table. The acolyte led him to a guestroom. It looked ordinary, not at all as if it was located in a torture dungeon.

‘Lay down on the bed.’ Mercury said softly. Again, Papa didn’t have the strength to protest. From a cupboard, Mercury pulled a washcloth which he wettened in the sink.

‘How are you feeling?’ he said. In the new light Papa saw dark circles around his eyes. They looked puffy, as if he had been awake for too long.

‘You don’t… have to do that.’ Papa flinched when the other started wiping his come off his thighs.

‘I do.’ Mercury said. ‘Can’t send you home like this. You have to accumulate again. Feel normal.’

It made Papa wonder what he could possibly know of normal.

‘If you want, you can stay the night.’ Mercury said. That broke something inside the pope. He felt the fury that had raged in him that same morning, after the Puppet Master had proposed something similar.

 

‘I descend from an ancient blood line!’ he spat, ‘we have been ruling the dark-minded for ages. Millennia!’ His voice wasn’t as strong as he had liked, but he could feel something coming back to him.

‘I’m the son of the ancient one. I have Devil’s blood running through my veins!’

Mercury traced his fingers over Papa’s pained ribcage. Papa could see his eyes flicker at the mention of blood. In his other hand he clenched the washcloth, making it drip onto his torso.

‘Welcome to a new world.’ Mercury whispered. His fingertips were on his chest, then his collarbones. Papa let out a soft whimper when he closed his hand over his throat.

 

‘What if I snap your neck right now?’ the acolyte looked at him through the corners of his blood-shot eyes. Papa swallowed hard, feeling the man’s grip on his throat tighten.

‘We’ll both die fucking legends.’ He replied.

Mercury didn’t seem to respond at first, but then he moved his hand. The thickness around his eyes had traveled to his throat and his mouth was wet when he spoke softly into Papa’s ear.

‘I wish we could.’ He said.

 

‘Does your master love you?’ Papa said. Mercury’s eyes rolled away.

‘I am unsure if he is capable of that.’ He replied. ‘We get something similar. Something that comes close.’

Papa felt tears sting his eyes.

‘But what does that even mean?’ He said. ‘I loved them. I loved all of them. What made them turn to him?’

Mercury made a peculiar noise, as if he hickuped, and it took him a while to find his answer. When he did speak again, however, Papa knew his words were commanded by The Puppet Master.

‘They come to me for the same reason you do, Papa Emeritus.’ Mercury breathed heavily, showing the pope that the Master had turned on of his eyes red once more.

‘To get away from you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I notice this fic hasn't any comments yet and I wonder why. Please let me know your thoughts, dear reader!


	4. The Church

‘I am taking you to the chapel Papa Nihil gifted you at your inauguration.’ Raul said. Papa didn’t respond at first. He watched the dark trees and listened to the tires of the black Mercedes on the gravel. He only noticed they were going a different way than he was expecting when he recognized the road they were on. It took him a while to focus. And then, Raul’s words seeped through the fog in his brain.

‘Why?’ he said. His voice sounded numb, but when Raul didn’t respond at first, Papa panicked. In the rearview mirror, he saw a glimmer of red in the driver’s eye. Swiftly, Papa unbuckled and lunged forward, grabbing the man’s shoulder.

‘He’s taken you too?’ he yelled at him, digging his nails into Raul’s arm. ‘You submitted to him?’ He yanked his arm, and Raul gasped, taking his foot off the gas. When he finally found the brakes, Papa saw fear in his light, brown eyes. The pope swallowed, heart in his throat. The adrenaline made his hands shake. Raul managed to stop the car, and turned the engine off. It was quiet.

‘I am sorry, Papa.’ The driver said softly.

‘No.’ Papa said. ‘No, I am.’ He sunk back into the seat. Water was streaming off the windows. Raul re-started the engine, but didn’t shift into gear.

‘I am taking you to the chapel.’ Raul said. ‘Unless you want me to take you to Lincopia.’

For a short moment, there was nothing but rain, and Papa found the driver’s eyes again through the rearview.

‘Forgive me.’ Raul averted his gaze. ‘But I took the liberty of turning on the heat in your chambers.’

He moved the stick into gear and they started driving again. Papa said nothing.

‘And I restocked your fridge. Kitchen staff told me almost all dinnerplates came back untouched.’

A blush crept up his neck, as if he realized what he was saying. Papa stared out the window, fingers on his collar, grinding his teeth.

 

‘Papa.’ The driver said, when he had stopped the car at the door, so that his pope didn’t have to walk far. Papa sighed as he got out. To his surprise, the driver got out of the car too. He turned even more red when Papa followed him with his eyes until they faced each other. Few men were shorter than Papa Three. The pope looked at Raul down his lashes.

‘Shall I pick you up at dawn?’ Raul said.

Papa nodded. Then, his driver took Papa’s right hand, and after a flash of his brown eyes, he bowed down to kiss his ring. A shiver ran up Papa’s spine and he had to swallow something away.

‘Raul…’ Papa said, holding onto the man’s hand.

‘At dawn.’ The driver said. His hand slipped from Papa’s grasp. The pope remained standing, watching the Mercedes drive away, and he entered his church knowing that one person loved him.

 

It was cold in the chapel, but his chambers were warm indeed. He re-made his bed, pulling the sheets from under the mattress. He didn’t like being tightly bound. Not when sleeping, at least.

The feeling of his church had lightened his mood, he noticed. He poured himself a glass of wine and strolled down the hall to his office. He opened the door and turned on the light. He flicked it off again. No work tonight. As he entered the chapel he sipped from his wine, humming a melody. He enjoyed how his voice bounced back to him. His hips swayed as he walked through his church, and he growled when he let his gloved fingers slide over the stone of the wall. When he reached the altar, he placed his glass on the marble. The cold crept into his bones and he shivered, feeling his nipples harden. His fingers took the same temperature as the cold stone underneath them. He breathed in deeply, eyes closed.

_Is that a smile, Emeritus?_

Papa blinked. Rolled his tongue as he looked up at the stained glass. The moon was casting a beautiful light and his chapel was colored in a deep, dark blue and an enchanting purpur.

‘Father…’ Papa sang. The word rolled over the benches and warmed the cold walls. His church sighed, answering him, caressing his skin.

‘Father…’ Papa sang again. He held his tone now, adding a slight vibrato. The Devil was a figure in red, depicted in the window over the entrance.

‘Whose kingdom shall haveth no end…’ he raised his arms, his vibrato waving into that of his devil’s church. To his left, the ghouls looked down on him in silver and black, and to his right he himself was depicted. His papal vestments seemed to move in the magic that was his voice, in the power embedded in his church. He sighed again, dropping his hands to the altar. Then, something made his ear itch. A sound in the confessional had distracted him from his bliss. It sounded small, yet penetrating. Swiftly, he pulled aside the curtain, to find a tall, slender rat gnawing at his wooden seat.

‘Ksht!’ Papa hissed, shooing the rodent. It jumped, and its eyes twinkled as it ran off. Papa was annoyed, but he’d have Raul take care of it. The pope thought of promoting him to be his personal assistant as he made his way to bed. He’d propose it in the morning.

At dawn.

 

That night Papa Emeritus the Third slept peacefully for the first time in a long while, even though he was battered and bruised, and even though rats were gnawing at the foundations of his chapel. His church loomed over him like a mother, surrounding him like a womb. It breathed as he breathed, and it healed him with its magic.


	5. The Grave

Papa had healed completely. He stood before his mirror, in his Lincopian chambers, and he regarded his body. Nothing was bruised at all, he saw no wounds, no scabs, no scratches. His skin was smooth and pale. He had noticed when he pulled his collar together to cover his neck that there was no pain or discomfort at all. Everything was normal. With glee in his eyes and a new, wicked spark in his heart, he strode naked through the castle to the family chapel. There, he washed his face in the unholy water. The black and white paint faded from his skin as he baptized himself, mumbling dark prayers to the devil. He slicked his hair back and turned his face to the light. He breathed in deeply. If he could let go of his guilt, he thought. If he could resign in peace, he thought. If he could live in his own church, live as a man and denounce the demon, he thought. He could live with the fact a Cardinal followed in his footsteps. He could learn how to love his father. He could try to forget his ghouls. He had already forgiven them.

 

The sunlight was pale, and he didn’t feel its warmth, but Papa felt the beauty in it. He felt how his skin glowed under it. A rush of goosebumps ran from his elbows to his abdomen. However, when he turned he saw the snake in the opened, wooden doors.

 

Sister Imperator raised an eyebrow at his erect cock. Papa hadn’t touched himself, but his transformative night seemed to have lifted more than just his spirits. He didn’t cover himself as he stared down the witch. Why should he?

‘Sister.’ His voice filled the space, and Sister lifted her nose. He felt she didn’t appreciate his confidence, and that made him suppress a grin.

‘You didn’t come home last night.’ She said.

‘There are many nights I don’t come home and I’ve never had to explain myself.’ Papa shot back. ‘I am not starting now.’

Sister raised her hands in feigned surrender.

‘I was just trying to show interest.’ She said, tone high-pitched.

Papa slicked his wet hair back and strode past her to the door. He kept her gaze when she sought his eye, even tough he didn’t want to give her his attention.

‘Dinner with your brothers and father tonight.’

‘No.’ Papa said.

‘I wasn’t asking.’

‘And I’m not answering.’ Papa swayed his hips, entering the hall. ‘Have a good one, Sister.’

 

He didn’t know what it was exactly that had freed him overnight. He thought back on the previous day, his talk with Raul, and then his conversation with the purple-lipped acolyte. He wondered about Mercury, and realized he felt no hatred for that man.

 _What if I snapped your neck right now?_ Mercury’s voice sounded in his head. Papa took a black shirt from his closet, holding it over his chest. He regarded himself in the mirror. He almost looked normal.

The acolyte did not seem to have wanted to break his neck out of hatred either. There was something deeper there, something Papa had felt when Mercury had come into his church disturbing the Virgin Ritual too. If they really despised each other, why did they both keep coming back? Alpha’s name was on Papa’s lips as he got dressed and rolled up his sleeves. But could that be it? Whatever the reason, he thought, he wouldn’t be visiting Priest’s ministry for a long time. He had not felt this light in years. There was no aching need inside him for… for…

He closed the door to his chambers behind him, letting go of trying to give words to whatever it was that only The Puppet Master knew how to give him.

 

He was on his way out, planning to have dinner by himself in one of his favorite restaurants down town, when he heard voices coming from the chambers of his oldest brother. He found the two former popes drinking gin at the table.

‘I take it you’re not joining father and the woman for dinner either?’ They looked at him in surprise, but he felt no venom coming from Emeritus the Second. Instead, his brother stood to fetch him a glass, while Emeritus the First nodded kindly and pulled out a chair for him.

‘A cardinal.’ One shook his head. ‘Father isn’t thinking straight.’

‘It’s who is doing the thinking for him.’ Two joined them, handing Papa his drink. ‘She’s our real problem.’

‘What is in it for the Sister?’ One thought aloud. ‘How is breaking the bloodline to her benefit?’ Tired, he rubbed his face. ‘Why not make a bastard daughter head of church?’

‘Father would never allow it.’ Papa chimed in. ‘Even if it were the most beautiful act of sinful rebellion.’

‘A damn shame.’ The old one said.

Emeritus the Second, who had been playing with a stack of cards, deep frown in his brow, coughed quietly.

‘We shouldn’t let this happen.’ His voice was soft. He looked up, knowing he had the attention of his brothers. ‘We all have led this church. How come Father still decides?’

One stared at him in silence as Papa tried to wrap his head around what Two had just said.

‘You’re saying we go against him?’ he said. Two patiently dealt the cards. His long arm moved clockwise over the table, his fingers tapping down every time he dealt a new card. He sighed, sat back, and took his own stack into his hand.

‘I say we kill him.’ he said, not taking his eyes of his cards.

‘Brother-’ Papa started, but One cut him off.

‘And Imperator.’ He said. ‘We should take her first.’

Papa’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe what he heard. But before he could react in any way at all, the door flew open and their father and the sister barged in.

‘Gentlemen!’ The sister said with a wicked grin on her face. Papa jumped up, knowing they were found out, that their conversation must have been overheard, knowing the consequences they’d suffer would be dire. Two huffed and threw his cards down. He stood up too, ready to charge at the sister, but suddenly the three of them were grabbed by dark figures.

‘Father!’ Papa shouted, but the old man lowered his head. Papa wrestled, but more arms closed around his torso and legs. His arms were twisted behind his back.

‘Father!’

He gasped when Two received a punch in the face so hard his nose started to bleed. One grunted a muffled grunt, but before Papa could look, something sharp stabbed him in the neck. All sound disappeared.

His vision started to blur as he lost his balance. The dark figures guided him patiently to the floor. Papa could feel his muscles weaken and it went black before his eyes for a second. It all happened so fast. He didn’t understand what was happening exactly. He was still processing the conversation he had with his brothers, and now he was strangled to the ground as poison spread through his limbs. He kicked his leg, but his body hardly moved anymore. Before his eyesight faded completely, he saw the green eye of Emeritus the Second twinkle, and then get dim.

‘Hmpf!’ He cried, spouting saliva through the fingers of the man holding a hand over his mouth. He saw that grin again on the sister’s face, and he hated that sight more than the dagger she drove through his heart.

 

 

 

 

Papa Emeritus the Third died. He never knew that this was how he would go. He felt the downward pull of his soul. It got called back home, to his Father in spirit, the one down below, but he screamed when he felt the clutch of his claws. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t dead. How could he be dead? The Devil called him, releasing him from his body and luring him in. He could see his human form as he slowly tore away from it. It looked so insignificant, so pale and small. It was murdered in his family home. He cried tears of regret over his body as if it was his own child. Tearing himself away from that skin hurt him physically. As if he had to break every bone in order to ooze out of it. Then he heard the call again. Before he could answer, another feeling reached his dying senses. It was electricity in its purest form.

 

As the purple cloud got to him, Papa saw a man approach he knew to be Mercury. Yet, this time, he was unmasked. He looked like a man, Papa thought. A human man. He looked nearly ordinary, and almost like the man he thought he once knew. Before everything around him fell away, Papa reached out and felt Mercury’s hair in his fingers.

‘It’s like fire.’ Papa whispered, but his dying voice only managed to give shape to the last word.


	6. Unleashed

The next scene started with a repetitive bass line. Nothing, except for low sounds, high gain, distortion, vibration. On the deep tones, thin strings of purple started to dance. They looked like the spikes on a heart monitor. There was a rumble coming from down below, mixing in with the bass and the strings, charged by the electricity. There were fingernails, made of purple smoke, eyelashes, ribs that grew into existence. From nothing, Papa Emeritus the Third rebooted, and as the blood started streaming through his supernatural veins, he realized everything he heard originated in his own mouth. He gasped, and the screaming stopped. There was no echo. The space around him was as non-existent as he was.

There had never been this much of nothing at all. Papa spread his eyes wide open, but there was him, and then there was… zero. Was this it? He heard the blood in his ears, no wind when he turned. Had it all been for nothing? As his dread grew stronger, he thought of how humanity feared death, and how humanity would never know how little they knew of fear.

Then, the hand that was holding his left hand squeezed.

 

If there was a hand, there must be more than nothing, Papa thought, time flashing by. He felt the hand again. He could even see it now. An entity grew from its wrist, and a voice came from its red eye.

‘Papa Emeritus.’ It said. ‘Emeritus. _Emeritus_.’

The scream returned, and Papa grew into his full form, reaching out to the entity before him. He pressed his long, sharp nails through Puppet Master’s mainframe, and closed his boney fingers around the motherboard of the formless intelligent entity.

 

‘Emeritus!’ It stressed. ‘Emeritus!’

‘You brought me back?’ Papa snarled, spit dripping off his long fangs.

‘You took control of my death?’

‘Emeritus!’

‘Death. Breaks. Consent!’ his voice sounded nowhere near the one he had used during his time on earth. Then, he had wooed crowds with it, made a fortune off of it. He grew, his spine curving and creaking.

‘Death. Defeats. All!’ De human Papa Emeritus the Third lay rotting in his family home. But there had always been more to him.

‘Puppet Master…’ he hissed, ‘you got a demon stuck in your wires!’

 

His awesome voice melted into The Master’s deluded laughter. The sound ricocheted off invisible walls and cut through the purple smoke that had started to appear. For the first time, Papa wasn’t afraid of it. He wasn’t _in need_ of it. It wasn’t impressive to him at all.

‘If you brought me to the fucking Pit…’ if there were walls, if there was a hand, and eye, purple smoke…

 

He found Mercury’s wrists and exhaled, using his last breath to disperse Puppet Master’s electric cloud. They were indeed in the Pit, inside Priest’s ministries. Papa recognized the pillars and the tapestry on the walls, and yet this place seemed smaller than before. Papa’s step was wider. He dragged the Puppet Master in the body of his nickering acolyte to the altar and threw him down. He snapped his fingers. As expected, Salt and Sulphur turned up. They lifted The Master and placed him on the marble with a nod of Papa’s head. He lifted a claw to Salt’s neck and gave him a push. The Doctors understood once more. They started undressing the man, and their movements weren’t unlike the gentle but certain touches of Alpha and Omega that one time… This same exact place. Eons ago. Papa remembered, and then waited for the drop of a weight in his stomach, but again he was unaffected by something that used to rule him like it did. His hands were cold. But if he remembered correctly, he could make anything burn with them.

 

‘Do your worst!’ Puppet Master laughed, letting Salt and Sulphur bare him to the demon.

‘I have waited for this!’

‘Don’t pretend this was your plan as well.’ Papa replied coolly. He turned, circling the altar and the Tria Prima. ‘Don’t pretend you control more than you do.’

‘I…’ Puppet Master moaned as Sulphur touched his cheek. He closed his red eye. Two hands massaged his ears, and he seemed lost for a moment. The disturbing thing, however, was his mortal eye, still open, and Mercury seeing directly out of it. Papa gasped, and spread his arms, making The Doctors stop. They stepped aside as the demon bowed his long form over The Master. When the red eye opened, the acolyte’s expression changed entirely. The grimace was back. The Master’s soul. Without saying a word, Papa placed his palm over the red eye, and immediately found Mercury again.

‘Do… your worst.’ The man echoed weakly. When Papa didn’t move, his voice gained more strength.

‘I forbid you to spare me.’ He spat. ‘Don’t you dare take pity on me now.’

Several thoughts shot through Papa’s mind, the most prominent one that sparing this human would be an ultimate form of revenge, but then again…. Mercury wasn’t the one he wanted to take revenge on. He remembered the acolyte’s hand around his human throat and the pact they had made then. When hen he straightened his back and pulled away, the tapestry along the walls caught fire. The Doctors put their hands on The Puppet Master again.

 

The man was naked, and the fire lit his body in red and gold. He laughed as fingers caressed and entered him. He heaved when fingertips pressed his tongue down.

‘Hmngh!’ he grunted, shaking his auburn hair loose.

‘Hmngh!’ there was a pulsing in his body that could not have been produced by muscle. A shockwave rippled his skin, and sparks, thin as hair, jumped from him. His breathing was shallow, his cock and nipples purple and erect.

 

‘I have no master!’ Papa walked around him, letting his fingers slide over the marble of the altar. He hissed downwards, his breath scorching hot against the man’s ear. He shivered in delight.

‘Deeper.’ Papa demanded. The masked men- the only masked men in The Pit- obliged. The Puppet Master arched his back, his legs opening wider to let Sulphur in. Sulphur made skillful movements, adding pressure to the prostate, working concentrated to stimulate every part of the man before him.

 

Mercury’s eyes were both red now. A kind of red Papa had never seen before in a human man. A kind of red that filled his sockets. His pupils were completely gone. He arched his back once more, humming around, Salt’s latex fingers.

‘You disgust me.’ Papa said.

‘You should’ve believed me when I first told you.’

Puppet Master let out a short cry of pleasure.

‘Hmmm…’ Papa closed his finger’s around his jaw and Mercury’s blind eyes shot from left to right. Papa caressed the man’s throat, further down, pressing his hand over Mercury’s heart. He felt it beat so heavily it deformed the man’s sternum. Papa pulled back, slightly alarmed. It was clear his inhumane lust was damaging the man he inhabited. The demon pope regarded the veins standing out in Mercury’s neck. The Doctors seemed uneasy now, maybe because Papa took pause. They looked to each other and then to him, and Papa realized it was their first act of free will that he had witnessed.

‘You… have to… say it…’ The Puppet Master managed to utter.

Papa touched his chest again, and watched how Sulphur used both hands on Mercury’s cock, a knee pressed to his balls.

Mercury squinted his blind eyes, and drops of blood rolled down. His face was red, almost as fiery as his hair. When he opened his mouth to plea, Papa saw how everything was black inside.

There was a moment of mercy, when he finally said:

‘Come.’

Mercury let out a scream when Puppet Master reached a painful climax.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

//The End//

The Puppet Master laughed for reasons no man could understand. He laughed, because in the demon’s liberation, he still found himself the architect. He laughed, and laughed.

Mercury felt his smile fade, his eyes grow dim, and the laughing faded when he forgot why that sound was coming from him at all.

 

In the middle of a burning Pit stood a man, eyes wide open. It was a man who, until now, had been completely content with his place in the world. His role, so to speak. He could not feel the fire. He wasn’t afraid of it. He knew it couldn’t harm him. That was never its intent.

‘Do _I_ have to die to become my own master?.’ He asked himself aloud.

‘Release me.’

‘Such a shame, Mercury-’

‘You may pass that name on to someone else now.’

 

Between the pillars, a demon turned and looked him up and down from a distance.

‘You can come with me and heal in my church.’ He said.

‘Go to hell.’

The demon shrugged and disappeared in a whirl of black mist. The fire died out so quickly it must’ve followed him elsewhere.

Merc- the former acolyte licked his lips.

‘I ask that you don’t pursue me, or try to persuade me to come back to you.’

‘If that is what you wish.’

The man was silent as he felt the pulsing presence of his former master fade. He wondered where it would go, but even after having carried The Master in his body he knew there were still so many things to learn about him. Another time, perhaps. By someone else.

He was so certain of this all of a sudden, more certain than anything in his life. And yet, he waited a beat before uttering the word that would always, as stated by their contract, end the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this concludes the Papa III/Puppet Master fuckery. Am I done now? Did I get all this disgusting nonsense out of my system?   
> Who knows, right? Only time will tell.   
> Thank you for reading to those who are still with me. You're troopers. Also if the Priest guys are still with us (they're not): hi guys! See ya in Berlin next week! I'll be the one buried in shame and leather.
> 
> As always: stalke me here: bearfeat42.tumblr.com


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